


asbestos in the walls

by okayantigone



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Illiterate Character, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soft Toys, Trauma Recovery, Wedding Planning, Zoldyck Family - Freeform, autistic illumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: “you keep saying that illumi is… his own person. but i am sure you realize that isn’t true at all, right? illumi isn’t… a person. not completely anyway. he is broken. and you’re a fool if you haven’t seen it! you have to understand… that he’s not all the way here.““you are about to make me very… upset right before the wedding, father,” the magician says, cheerful and bright, and the warning is clear in his voice.// ahead of his wedding to illumi, hisoka is summoned to the zoldyck home to speak with his father-in-law. when did silva decide that his firstborn son is too broken to inherit the family business?





	asbestos in the walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crownsandbirds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/gifts).



> this is a gift to my sweet baby jean for being a fcking inspiration as always and coming up with the concept behind this fic

 

the house on kukuroo mountain is abuzz ahead of the wedding. there hasn’t been so much commotion there, since the birth of young kalluto-sama. it’s canary’s first zoldyck wedding, though the older butlers remember the wedding of silva-sama and kikyou-sama, and the commotion _that_ had caused, the young heir to the family choosing a nobody from meteor city.

 

for a very long time, everyone talked about how silva zoldyck went to meteor city on a job, and came back with a new bride and a new reputation. the older butlers did not like kikyou-sama, for the most part. canary agreed with them for the most part.

 

and now, illumi-sama, the first son, the perfect zoldyck, was getting married and his new husband was all any of the staff could talk about. canary had gotten a glimps of him, as he pushed through the testing gate, opening the first four with ease, stepping in to survey the mountain with curious golden eyes. he walked slowly, nonchalant, taking the splendor of the zoldyck estate in, his lips curved in a smile. that was, she knew, the same man who had killed gotoh.

 

inside the house, amane said, he’d been lead straight into silva-sama’s office, where they would talk for _hours._ what could they possibly have to talk about, canary wondered. not that she had time to think about that, because there was _so much_ to do. the house was being polished top to bottom, all the finest everything pulled ouf of cupboards, the pantries stocked with the finest delicacies. the wedding cake was to be a nine story affair, topped with true-to-life sugar and marzipan figurines of illumi-sama and his husband.

 

kalluto-sama was coming home for the wedding. zeno-sama was exiting his mourning for isaac netero for the wedding. the hope was, she knew, that the pomp and fanfare would bring killua-sama and alluka-sama home. the hope was that a glittering celebration would distract from the fact that yet another son was leaving the family.

 

and in the middle of all the chaos of dusting and moving, and decorating, illumi-sama was as quiet and politely invisible as ever, almost like he wasn’t fully present at all, almost like this wasn’t all dedicated to him. he was packing his own bags, wrapping up his belongings, putting them away.

 

illumi-sama and his new husband would move to a residence in central yorknew. an _apartment,_ of all things, kikyou-sama had wailed. like a _commoner._

 

amane had told her, later, that the apartmenr was in fact, a two-story penthouse at the top floor of the tallest building in yorknew, overlooking the whole city, and that hisoka-sama had paid nearly three hundred and seventy million jenny for it… cash.

 

how much would he pay, canary wondered, for the luxury of taking the firstborn zoldyck son home?

 

hisoka sat in silva zoldyck’s study, taking in the dark interior. cherry wood cabinets lined with books and curiosities. a snake skeleton in a beautiful glass bell jar. an animal skull with curved antlers. a pair of scarlet eyes, staring him down accusingly. tasteful and intimidating, like everything else about the family he was marrying into. a skittish butler had brought tea on a white silver tray, the bone china cups beautifully decorated with drawings in gold paint of great mystical beasts being slaughtered. very quaint, and certainly poisoned. he heaped his cup with sugar, and held it in his hands, feeling the warmth.

 

silva sat behind his wide desk, broad, imposing… clever kikyou-san, bagging a man like that. his large hands were splayed, palm-flat on the desk, his pale eyes boring into hisoka. hisoka was perfectly happy to let this be a silent staring competition, and not say the first word. it was often, illumi said, a waiting game with no rules, in his family. and because you never knew the rules, you were always losing. that’s why his sweetheart was so difficult to coax into a conversation, though hisoka didn’t like to play those sorts of games with him.

 

“you are serious then,” silva said at last, “about my son.”

 

hisoka arched his eyebrows, took a sip from the cup – definitely poisoned-

 

“i am marrying him, aren’t i?”

 

“a marriage can be undone.”

 

“i am certain your lovely wife will be very happy to hear you say that,” hisoka said, smiling thinly. he wasn’t fooled even for a minute. he was speaking to silva, but it was kikyou who wanted him dead, just like she wanted gon-kun dead, and had gone and filled illu-chan’s head with horrible, horrible chatter. everyone here had an agenda. how freeing then, that hisoka’s only agenda was illu-chan.

 

“it is different for us,” silva said shortly. “as i am sure you are aware…. i bought her. i own her.”

 

_and yet she’s still the one running the show in your house,_ hisoka wanted to say, but didn’t. he’d been bought and owned too. that was just as impermanent as marriage, in his experience.

 

“i don’t want to own illu-chan,” hisoka said seriously. he crossed and uncrossed his legs, resting the cup on his knee, and looked at silva squarely, letting his words sink in.

 

“yes,” silva breathed, not quite a sigh, but near. “i know. it’s the only reason i’m allowing it.”

 

“oh?” how very interesting. and there, hisoka thought, it was just a big farce to keep him close enough to leash up, like the rest of the children. even poor killua-kun, who was so smart to everything else, except his family, thought he’d shaken them off when he’d removed illumi’s surgically-implanted good will from his skull. unlike him, hisoks was smart enough to see a snare when he saw one. not smart enough to walk away though, apparently. but illu-chan was not killua. he would never leave this family, so hisoka had no choice. he had to join them. and it made illu-chan, oh-so-very happy. and that, after all, was hisoka’s current long-term endgame. make illumi-chan happy, and kill all the spiders.

 

“illumi asked me for my blessing on this ill-conceived relationship, well before you ever thought to propose to him,” silva said. his voice was level, even. he leaned back in his chair.

 

now that was news, and he wanted to know more. “what did he say?”

 

silva looked off to the side, somewhere to the left of hisoka’s shoulder. hisoka followed his gaze.

 

silva still remembered that day, illumi soaked to the bone with rain, come to report another mission completed to astounding perfection, not even shaking from the cold. his eyes had been wide and bottomless, and the water dripping from his hair and clothes was soaking into the carpet. the tips of his long fingers were tinged blue, like his thin bloodless lips.

 

“very well,” silva had said, barely looking up from his papers. the money transfer had pinged almost immediately. illumi’s detailed report was merely a formality.

 

he realized only after a while that illumi had not left his presence despite the clear dismissal.   
  
“well? what is it? out with it,” he’d said, looked up exasperated. illumi was not like milluki, who was always whining, always asking for things, or like killua, who simply took what he wanted, and then presented silva with the fact. he wasn’t even like kalluto, who always tried, much like kikyou, to sweeten him up before his childish demands. illumi never asked for anything. even when he did, he always phrased it as such, that it was easy to deny him, because he expected to be denied.

 

“i have a request,” illumi said, unsurprisingly.

 

silva looked at him, his carefully impassive, paper-pale face, so much like kikyou’s, with its fine structure, his long hair, and wondered what he could possibly ask? more free time to spend in the house with killua? a larger allowance, though he barely ever even spent what he made in his missions? what did illumi want, when he’d never wanted anything? silva was almost curious about it, this stranger in his own house who called himself his son, that he didn’t know anything about, not because he didn’t want to, but because there simply wasn’t anything to illumi _to_ know.

 

milluki liked his strange shows and games, and asked for consoles and computers, and rare copies of books, and figurines that hadn’t been made in years. killua wanted toys and chocolate and to get to see alluka. kalluto wanted girl’s things- dolls, and dresses, and jewelry. alluka wanted… what alluka wanted. but illumi… illumi wanted nothing, asked for nothing… had nothing.

 

milluki had a favorite show. killua had a favorite videogame that milluki always beat him at, and kalluto had a favorite song that he played on the piano in duet with kikyou. alluka, in her quiet, artificially lit room, had favorite toys, and favorite picture books.

illumi had nothing. he stepped from one foot to the other. it occurred to silva that illumi was nervous. it occurred to him that this was important. that because illumi had nothing, and wanted nothing, what he wanted now would be something  - important.

 

“i want your blessing,” illumi said. and looked not at the carpet, but at his father’s face.

 

“my blessing?” silva repeated, to make sure he’d heard right

 

“i am having a relationship,” illumi said. “i will stop it, if you order me. but i … i hope you will not. so i am asking for your blessing.”

 

“this relationship of yours,” silva had tasted the words, foreign and strange on his tongue. illumi, quiet, blank, how was there possibly enough of him to sustain a relationship? with what sort of person? there again, was that burning curiosity to know more.

 

this wasn’t milluki going on about his waifus, this was his firstborn son, declaring himself –

 

“he’s… powerful.” illumi said carefully. his eyes roamed the room, never stopping, weighing each word so he would not give the identity of that mystery lover away. another man? well, that was not much of a surprise. silva had always ascribed illumi’s lack of interest in women to his lack of interest in anyone, to the things that happened, but this… when illumi’s eyes find his, he’d pinned silva with his gaze. “he calls me his _darling._ i’m not… ready to give this up yet. i don’t want to give it up. at least not _yet._ ”

 

“your mother won’t be happy about this,” is what silva had said. what he’d meant to say was _you have my blessing_. what he’d meant to say was _i am sorry i failed you_. what he’d meant to say was _were you really willing to risk my wrath for someone to continue to call you darling?_

 

“he said you were good to him,” silva tells hisoka. the man sitting in his office is strange, like an exotic bird – colorful, and loud, though now perched precariously in the chair, his golden eyes devouring.

 

“i certainly hope i am,” he said easily enough. hisoka the magician. there was very little to be found out about him. a few years older than illumi, a former circus acrobat, a violent, indiscriminate killer, and recently licensed hunter, former member of the phantom troupe, champion of heaven’s arena – it meant very little. the world was full of powerful violent men.

 

“ _you_ never asked for my blessing,” silva said.

 

“am i buying illumi from you, that i need your permission?” his tone was playful, but his eyes were steel. “illu-chan is his own person. he can make his own decisions about our wedding.”

 

“and if we had denied him our permission?”

 

“i would never put illu-chan in a position to choose between me and his family.” hisoka says seriously. he sets his teacup gracefully on the coaster. “it would be cruel and unfair, and i know he wouldn’t choose me.”

 

silva nods. “then you understand.”

 

“it seems you don’t.” hisoka is smiling. there is insolence there. silva almost wants to strike his smug face. “i proposed to illu-chan with my own death contract. if he chooses to end my life – or if you order him to – he _will_ do it. because i come from nothing, and i have nothing, _this_ is what i put on the line for your son. consider it my dowry.”

 

“your bounty?” some sixty million jenny, pocket change, compared to the zoldyck coffers.

 

the magician shakes his head. “my _life._ ”

 

silva has to contain his scoff, and decides not to. “your life is worthless. a petty circus performer-turned killer… my family has killed kings, and ended empires.”

 

“my life is worthless to you,” hisoka agrees. “but it’s not worthless to your son. and as i said… i’m not here to be negotiating illu-chan’s… _bride price._ any number you can name besides, would be too little. to be truthful, silva~ _san_ i don’t know why i’m here at all. but lo – my father-in-law bid me come, and i am nothing if not dutiful.”

 

one day, maybe not for a long time, but one day, silva will wipe that smug expression off the clown’s face with his fist.

 

“it’s true i called you here. i wanted to speak with you, about illumi.”

 

“hmm? well, i can talk about illu-chan all day,” the clown says brightly and adjusts himself in the armchair, as though preparing to do just that.

 

“you keep saying that illumi is… his own person. but i am sure you realize that isn’t true at all, right? illumi isn’t… a person. not completely anyway.”

 

the magician moves, it’s graceful, barely there, but silva can read the ill intent in his motion anyway, like a snake preparing to strike. “you are about to make me very… _upset_ right before the wedding, father,” he says, cheerful and bright, and the warning is right there, in his voice.

 

“illumi is _broken!”_ silva snaps. “and you’re a fool if you haven’t _seen_ it! you have to understand… that he’s not all the way here. he is broken, and  - “

 

“and i’m looking at why,” hisoka finishes for him, smiling ever so pleasantly. his manicured hands are clasped in his lap. “i’m sure you know better than i do what has happened to my dear illu-chan, but i assure you, i am perfectly aware of how he is and the sort of treatment it merits. i’d say, i’m probably more aware of it than you.”

 

silva is the one who recoils at the interruption, at hisoka’s words – savage, and true. he’d often wondered how much illumi remembered from that time. how much he’d done in terms of blaming. ultimately, he acted as though he’d simply forgotten, tucked it all away in that brilliant mind of his, compartmentalized everything, until there was nothing left to compartmentalize. he looked at hisoka morrow, with his bright,  colorful clothes, his wild hair and gold jewelry, the audacious heels of his shoes, and his painted face, and wondered how someone so fully _there_ could love someone as obviously missing as illumi.

 

he hadn’t thought about that time often. he too, knew to compartmentalize. it was hard to imagine that illumi had ever been anything else than what he was now. he’d always been quiet, obedient, studious, sweet-tempred, always eager to please, rarely individualistic, and more an empty vessel accepting what he was taught wordlessly, and he’d been… well. he’d been perfect. he’d have done the zoldyck name proud. silva and zeno had trained him themselves, for all of kikyou’s wailing and protestations that he was too young. she knew too, the necessity of preparing him for the sort of life their family led. she too, had gone through similar, hadn’t they all?

 

illumi had been the heir silva had always wanted. there was no two ways about that, and he’d have carried his name and made him oh-so-proud. milluki – well. that was an accident. he’d thought they were being careful, but kikyou had been so very happy – he hadn’t had the heart to deny her. besides, she’d have a baby to spoil and dote on, so he could focus his efforts on illumi’s training without her interference. shipping illumi off to heaven’s arena was a unanimous decision. kikyou carried meteor city slum superstition – she didn’t want illumi, in childish jealousy of the baby, to accidentally cast evil eye on it. or some such nonsense, but she was pregnant and terrifying, so he indulged her. it would be good experience for illumi anyway.

 

illumi had been small, delicate and doll-like beside him, his long dark hair lovingly braided by his mother. he wore an elegant kimono, and looked almost like a pretty girl.he grasped silva’s hand in his own tiny one. silva walked him to the counter and registered him. illumi’s handwriting was lovely- certainly better than his mother’s half-literate chicken scratch, though of course, he expected no less than perfection, for all he paid illumi’s private tutors.

 

“you can come back home after you have reached the two-hundreth floor,” silva had said. “call gotoh, and he will come with the airship to pick you up. and when you do… you’ll have a new baby brother.”

 

illumi’s eyes had gone even bigger, his face uncertain, like he couldn’t decide if he was allowed to express emotion. silva certainly discouraged it, it wasn’t conductive.

 

“as you wish, father.”

 

then illumi bowed, turned around, and left. silva didn’t see him for another three years.

 

the illumi that came back from heaven’s arena was no different than the illumi he’d left there – a quiet thing, wrapped in heavy silks and heavier silences, those big eyes blank, containing thoughts silva couldn’t hope to understand. he’d built up mass, but only a little, and he’d grown a few inches. of course, he’d lagged behind in schoolwork, so he had to get right on it. he greeted milluki with appropriate warmth that please kikyou very much. his room had been stripped of his childish things, redone to reflect his growth. he looked around it, and didn’t react at all.

 

he was behaving like a true zoldyck already – stoic and self-possessed in a way even silva hadn’t been at his age.

 

illumi walks around his room, picking up each item in his possession carefully, weighing its value. the rock salt lamp will have to come to yorknew, of course – it’s good for his health, and the warm glow is pleasant at night. it will sit well in his study in the new apartment.

 

most of it is furnished already – hisoka had had great fun with it, or so he claimed. he ran his fingers over the curtains – deep blue brocade with bronze thread detailings – he’d liked the old ones – a deep forest green velvet with a golden trim – much better, but his mother had been in one of her fits, wanting to redo the house again, so he’d let her, and hadn’t said anything. his room hadn’t been much changed, since he’d been about kill’s age. they’d just stopped bothering with it. his book cases were full of the biographies and histories he read – not all of them favorites, but ones he’d grown used to. he liked familiar things. when he’d come back from heaven’s arena, nothing had been familiar. everything he’d known was gone – boxed up and put in storage, his father said, because he wasn’t a child anymore. some things had been given to the new baby – now toddler – milluki. milluki was a fat, warm thing, smiling, carrying with him the scent of sunlight and their mother’s perfume. illumi had thought then, that the child probably deserved those nice things better than him. that if he had come home sooner from heaven’s arena – been faster at reaching the top floors – then he could have stopped his things being taken.

 

but he had no way of articulating any of this to his parents. words felt wrong in his mouth, so he said nothing. that night, he’d climbed in his new double bed. it was higher than his old one had been. the sheets felt cold and wrong. there weren’t enough pillows, but he didn’t dare ask the butlers to bring him more. he wasn’t sure it was allowed. he wasn’t sure if tsubone would tell father, and he’d get beaten again, like the last time he’d asked for – well. he didn’t really remember what.

 

he’d stared at his ceiling, now painted white, where before, it had been painted deep blue, with the constellations on it.

 

his mother had opened the door and come in, quiet as a shadow, but he sensed her anyway. she out her hand on his shoulder. “i know you’re awake,” she said.

 

her visor was off. she was wearing her silk pajamas, the pink ones father brought her from a job in saherta, with the silver trim. “i know you’re sad about your room, and your things,” she said.

 

“i’m not,” illumi said, because it was expected of him to say it.   
  
“i saved this for you,” she said.

it was the soft sherpa blanket that he had received a few yuletides ago, and he’d missed it a lot when he was in heaven’s arena. he’d bought himself so many blankets and pillows with his earnings. he hadn’t dared bring them back with him, though they were his. he’d asked gotoh if it was allowed, and gotoh had said no, and gotoh was an adult and illumi had always done what the adults wanted him to do.

 

he reached for it, wrapped his arms around it and held it to his chest.

 

“is it okay to have it?”

 

“i say it’s okay, don’t i?” kikyou arched a thinly plucked eyebrow. “you should have the things you want, illu. you’re going to rule over this family, and this entire house one day.”

 

“father says that’s why i’m not allowed to have… some stuff… now.” in illumi’s world, his father’s word had been gospel. it still was.

 

kikyou reached to run her fingers through his hair. “you have to be strong for your brother,” she said. “and be a good example for him. he will love you very much one day.”

 

illumi nodded mutely. something big was in his throat.

 

he waited until she left to bury his face in the blanket and cry. he’d missed his room. he’d wanted to go back to _his_ room. he’d missed his blanket. he wanted his soft toys from heaven’s arena that he’d _earned._

 

he picked up his hisoka-plush. when hisoka first gave him the toy, it felt almost a lifetime ago. nearly a whole year before the hunter exam. it was hand-sewed, because of course it was – hisoka was endlessly talented like that. it was very, very soft, full of clouds of pure cotton, and its hair was silk, and the eyes were sewn in with gold thread. it was only a crude imitation of hisoka. it looked like something a child would like. but illumi often felt like a child – stupid, confused, in need of comfort.

 

“what am i meant to do with it?” he’d asked, confused. the doll was soft in his hands. it felt fragile, precious. he didn’t want to accidentally squish it.

 

the real hisoka had shrugged his broad shoulders. he held another doll in his hands – an approximation of illumi, except his face was sewn into a smile, and … had hisoka _airbrushed a blush on his cheeks?_

 

“i made one for myself. i figured it would be selfish not to make one for you.” he was smiling. “that way, i always have you with me, even when you’re working.”

 

he stepped closer to illumi, tucked his hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead.

 

hisoka slept with soft dolls. it was strange. his apartment in heaven’s arena was in disarray, because hisoka had never minded chaos. it wasn’t dirty. just disorderly. his large double bed was half taken over by so many toys… weird animals with soft fur, and felt figurines of celebrities…

 

“you promised not to laugh,” hisoka sing-songed behind him. they’d drank a fair bit after cleaning up from a job. well. it was a job for illumi, hisoka had just been there. that’s how it happened, in the early days of their flirtation. but illumi didn’t want ot laugh. he wanted to cry.

 

he bet no one had ever taken hisoka’s soft things away. he bet if someone had, that hisoka had _killed_ them.

 

“i don’t really bring anyone up here,” hisoka reached to run a hand through his hair. “i’m.. i suppose i’m _shy._ but you’re pretty special, sweet thing.”

 

illumi wanted him to stop talking before he burst into tears, so he’d silenced him with a kiss. hisoka had shoved him down on the bed. they’d had sex before – brif trysts, illumi had gone on his knees in alleys, or sat in hisoka’s lap during blimp rides, but this was _hisoka’s apartment,_ and _hisoka’s bed._ hisoka fucked meanly.

 

he’d weaved illumi’s hair around his arm to pull on ruthlessly, trailed bites that actually drew blood over his shoulders, raked his nails over illumi’s hips. it felt like punishment. it felt like illumi deserved it. it felt _good._

most of the toys had ended up on the floor, when the two of them collapsed in a sweaty heap in the blankets. illumi nuzzled hisoka’s neck, felt a possessive arm around his waist.

 

he’d woken up hours later – alone in the bed, blinking in the dark. nothing was wrong, that he could sense. he could just about make out the shape of hisoka moving silently in the room, like a dancer dedicated to a charming performance no one could see.

 

hisoka picked each toy up carefully, with two hands, kissed its forehead. “goodnight. i’m sorry i pushed you”, and placed it on the pillow-covered seat in the reading nook. illumi watched him repeat the process with every single toy.

 

that big thing that sometimes came up in his throat swole again. he felt sick. he wanted to cry. he wanted to run away. he wondered if hisoka would have done the same for illumi’s dolls. he wished he’d done it, before leaving and coming home, all those years ago. imagined himself picking up each one, kissing it, saying “ _sorry”_ because it was the last time he’d see them.

 

he didn’t realize he was crying, until the sob escaped him, quiet and pathetic.

 

hisoka was just setting down a very large rabbit with long floppy ears.   
  
he turned to illumi sharply. “sweetheart? are you crying? did i hurt you, pretty thing?”

 

and now there was hisoka, offering up a plush versin of himself, to match the plush version if illumi that he would pick up, and kiss, and wish goodnight to…

 

and now there was illumi, a day before his wedding, holding that same toy of the man he was going to marry. he’d never been brave enough to take the hisoka doll into bed. it was weakness. it was attachment. he didn’t want it taken away. he didn’t want his parents finding out. he didn’t want hisoka to get hurt. he just wanted his doll. he’d settled it on one of the throw cushions, right under the rock salt lamp, so it would never be alone in the dark. perhaps he ought to give it a blanket too. hisoka’s toys in heaven’s arena had all slept in bed, under the duvet. but illumi didn’t really have a doll-sized blanket.

 

he’d ended up puling an old woolen sweater out – it was cashmere, and impossibly soft. he’d worn it once, during a winter dinner, and his mother had remarked that the color was unflattering to his pale complexion. he wrapped it around the hisoka doll – that would be nice and soft, and keep it warm, and he could see it from his bed.

 

now it was time to take it to his new home. he wrapped his arms around it, holding it to his chest. his room was a mess of boxes and suitcases. some of the things would travel straight to yorknew, and some would go on the yacht for the honeymoon voyage hisoka had planned around the yorbian coast. he wanted to show illumi the coastal cities and the routes of the traveler caravans – the places he’d grown up.

 

he didn’t really startle when his mother knocked on the door. he always moved through the house with his en activated. he never wanted to be caught unawares. everything was just one big training exercise.

 

“come in,” he said absently, even though she was already making her way through the battlefield of his packing.

 

“oh, honey! why are you doing this all on your own? where are the butlers? isn’t _anyone_ in this house good for anything?” she picked up a stray coat he’d been debating taking. yorknew was warmer than kukuroo mountain, so he didn’t really need his _warmest_ clothes, but on the other hand, if he ever had to do a job up north…

 

“its fine, mother. i prefer to do it on my own.”

 

he moved carefully, so the hisoka doll was behind his back.

 

“oh, nonsense, illu! you have bigger things to worry about, you’re getting _married!”_ she took a step closer to him, looking up through the glass screen of her visor. “let someone else do the folding and the dusting and whatnot! that… fiancée of yours has arrived, you know. he’s taking tea with your father in his study, but imagine they’ll be ready for you soon –  really. you should let tsubone handle all this –“

 

“i don’t want the butlers touching my _things,_ mother!”

 

she took a step back, raising her hands up. her lower lip wobbled dangerously. her moods had been unpredicteable since kill took alluka and vanished.

 

“right. very well then,” she bit down on her lip, and smoothed her skirts. “i think i’ll go down, make sure we’re on schedule with the dinner. that’s what i’ll do. mhm.”

 

she marched out. her hands were balled into fists, shaking. illumi wanted ot feel bad, but all he felt was the hammering of his heart in his chest. he’d saved the hisoka-doll. he wrapped it quickly back in the sweater, and shoved it to the bottom of his suitcase for the honeymoon, with the clothes he’d packed as a treat to hisoka.

 

she took the stairs down two at a time, nearly blind with unshed tears. the visor did well to hide such an unsightly expression of emotion. that … _horrible_ girl canary was making an absolute mess of the canapes, so kikyou chased her out of the kitchen. “i’ll finish these myself! go find tsubone and tell her that my son requires her assistance up in his apartments… honestly… nearly a hundred members of staff in this house, and my illu has to pack everything himself… oh, won’t somebody _help_ him for once!”

 

as soon as the heavy oak door closed behind canary, kikyou collapsed against the table, her shoulders shaking. illumi was _leaving!_ illumi _wanted_ to leave. to get married to that _awful, insolent_ man. a circus performer! a common … a common _traveler!_

 

she picked up a canape and stuffed it in her mouth to quiet her sobs. they weren’t much to look at – canary had _no_ talent in that department, but they did taste quite good. they’d do for dinner, though certainly not for the ceremony tomorrow.

 

illumi… he’d just walk away, like his ungrateful selfish brothers, and leave this family, leave his _poor mother_ all alone…

 

it just wasn’t _fair._

 

it wasn’t _fair,_ canary thought as she marched through the grounds. the lady of the house was mad that her eldest was getting married, and she was taking it out on everyone, and it wasn’t fair. insulting canary’s cooking was just a low blow.  tsubone was picking out flowers for the arrangements tomorrow.

 

“kikyou-sama wants you to go up and help illumi-sama pack,” she said mechanically.

 

tsubone nodded curtly and handed her the shearing scissors. canary took her place by the rose bush beside amane.

 

“do you really think he cares?” amane asked.   
  
“hm?” canary was still fuming about her encounter with kikyou.   
  
“illumi-sama, i mean. do you think he cares about the wedding, and all this stuff? the cake and the roses and such? i mean – “ here, amane lowered her voice, “i heard they’re already married… i heard they did it in secret in swardani city, during the hunter chairman election, and this is just a formality!”

 

“it doesn’t really matter, does it? they say we throw a wedding, so we throw a wedding,” canary shrugged.

 

“do you think they’re … in love?” amane was breathless with giggling. canary ignored her.

 

tsubone knocked on the doorframe, peering into illumi-sama’s apartments. they were normally bland, devoid of life, much like their owner, but now every single item was pulled out of its proper place. three boxes were right by the door, labelled neatly as _books, films_ and _music._ the bookcase and attached drawers were empty. he was leaving the television set, desk-computer and music player behind. milluki-sama would pick them apart in _hours,_ if given the chance.

 

illumi-sama stood by his bed, carefully folding clothes for his travel suitcases.

 

he looked up at her owlishly.

 

“i didn’t call for you,” he said. there was no reproach in his voice, merely a statement of fact.

 

“your mother said- “

 

“that was kind of her. but as you see, i do not need any help from you.”

 

tsubone blistered. out of all his siblings, illumi was the least difficult and demanding. he wasn’t spoiled like milluki, and certainly a lot more self-reliant than killua-sama, who was managing god-knows how on his own these days, his needs were less elaborate than kalluto-sama’s, who was exacting in his expectations for food and clothes and order – in fact, illumi-sama went out of his way to _never_ request anything from them, going as far as to bar them from his apartments, and take up the cleaning himself, fiercely guarding his privacy, almost pathological about it.

 

tsubone supposed, in a house like this, and with a mother like that, he valued what little of it he could get.

 

“i see,” she said. “i apologize.”

 

he nodded, not looking at her. “the shipping boxes for yorknew can be moved when i am done – i’ll let you know.”

 

“right.”

 

she moved to walk out. he was folding his clothes carefully, with practiced movement, and she looked at his straight back and confident hands. another child leaving this poisoned home. secretly, she’d always hoped they would all leave one day.

“illumi-sama?”

 

“hm?” he turned to face her. his face was blank and puzzled. “yes?”

 

“i just… i wanted to say… to congratulate you. on your wedding.”

 

“oh? thank you?” he made it sound like a question. he often sounded like he was asking a question. it occurred to her, she’d rarely if at all, spoken with him, even when he’d been heir.

 

“i also wanted to say… i’m sorry.”

 

“sorry? what are you sorry for? did you break something?”

 

she had. she knew exactly what she had broken, all those years ago, when she’d taken stuffed lions and elephants and foxes and sheep off the shelved of a little boy’s room, and packed them up in cardboard boxes, and sealed them away in the storage room. she knew what she’d broken, when that little boy came back to a room where nothing was soft and everything was heavy.

 

“i’m sorry that… i never helped you. when you were young. i should have, but i didn’t.”

 

“well… don’t worry about it,” he still sounded puzzled, like he couldn’t quite understand what she was saying to him, and was responding out of the careful courtesy he’d had beaten into him. “i never asked for your helped.”

 

“yes, but i… well. i helped your siblings, didn’t i?”

 

illumi-sama turned to face her fully. he was holding a dark purple sweatshirt in his hands, half-folded.

 

“they must have needed help,” he said slowly, carefully. “i didn’t.”

 

she hadn’t really loved him, back then. not like she did the other children, not like she did killua-sama, or alluka-sama.

 

“every child needs help sometimes.”

 

she wondered sometimes, if he even understood how colossally they had all failed him. she wondered if he’d ever seen her sneak killua-sama a chocorobot, and felt resentment.

 

“like i said… i didn’t.” he shrugs his slender shoulders gracefully. “you had no obligation to help me, besides. it was never part of your duties. i was an odd, stupid and ugly child. i slept in the dirt, and ate rocks, and didn’t speak for days. i’m sure nanika would have made for better company. you don’t owe me an apology, or an explanation. you helped killua – that’s all that matters. that’s all there is.”

 

he turned back around, returned to putting things back in his suitcases. she lingered in the doorway, then left.

 

she didn’t have the words to tell him that she’d never thought he was stupid. none of the butlers did. she didn’t have the words to tell him that children were never ugly, that being odd was their job, that -  well. she’d already told him she was sorry.

 

she’d seen him come back once, from what she now understood were his rendezvous with his fiancée. his throat and wrists were bruised, but he was often bruised. she and gotoh had been walking down the hall from zeno’s wing, after delivering him his evening paper. gotoh had walked a little ways ahead of her, in good humor for some reason or other.

 

illumi  had stopped dead in his tracks. in the dark she couldn’t really make out what he was holding. it looked the right shape to be a pillow?

 

“good evening, illumi-sama?” gotoh had greeted pleasantly.   


the young man had nodded.

 

“what is that you have – “

 

she’d seen the way illumi’s eyes widened with fear, the way his grip on it – a stuffed doll, gotoh had said later, the kind that nearly every child in meteor city used to have, because it was easy to stick wads of rags together and pretend they’re precious  - tightened as he pulled it closer to his chest.   
  
“it’s nothing. it doesn’t matter. it’s mine – “ she heard the whisper, though she’d always been sure it was her imagination playing tricks – “please don’t take it away.”

 

then he’d disappeared.

 

how many things had he brought, precious to him, that they’d had to rip from his hands on his father and grandfather’s orders? that’s just how it was done. that’s how it had to be done. he was going to be the heir of the zoldyck family.

 

and now he couldn’t stand the thought of her folding his clothes. now all he had was a gratitude that she’d been more willing to bend the rules for killua. now he too, was going to get out of this house. his red-haired demon fiancé would make sure of it. because even if illumi didn’t hold a grudge, she knew that the man – hisoka morrow – did. gotoh’s death, if anything, proved it.

 

she often wondered what it would have been like, if he’d gotten out when he was still old enough to get saved. now, despite the magician’s best efforts, she doubted there was much _to_ save.

 

hisoka avoided silva zoldyck’s gaze by looking into the scarlet eyes. he’d have to let kurapika-kun know about this. after illumi was out of the house, of course. and illumi would be out of the house for good very, very soon.

 

“i’m just curious if you’re saying this because you wish to discourage me from marrying illumi,” hisoka said when he felt the silence had stretched too long.

 

silva shook his head. “i want you to _understand,”_ he said instead. “illumi is…” - _dangerous_ – “ _fragile.”_

illumi had been barely thirteen. his throat was littered with teeth-shaped bruises. his wrists were still raw with rope-burn. mike was sleeping off the meal he’d made of illumi’s _tutors_ in the art of seduction. they walked out the testing gate together. illumi wasn’t exactly limping. he wasn’t looking at his father.

 

silva had lost his virginity to the best whores money could buy when he’d been the same age, and they’d taught him alright. everything he’d ever need to know and more. certainly enough to bring kikyou into his bed and _keep her._ he’d learned from men too, though it had not been his taste much. zeno had insisted he try it, so he’d tried it.

 

none of the men and women who came now, to do the same for illumi, knew that the price of touching naked power like this, would be their own lives, just like the ones who’d served ant aught silva hadn’t known it.

 

illumi had killed them silently, with his needles. his mastery of nen was slow-going, but his hatsu, still in baby steps, was coming along nicely. it was a quiet and dependable power, like illumi was quiet and dependable.

 

pity, there had been too much blood and other things on the damask bedding… the butlers would have to change everything again. well. if illumi hadn’t struggled so much…

 

perhaps it was because silva had insisted that he give up the blanket and the stuffed toys first. he was a man now, after all, or about to be, at least. childish things – even the few he pretended not to know illumi coveted – and kikyou allowed – had no place in his life. he was a _zoldyck._

 

“you’ll start taking solo jobs, from now on,” he said. illumi nodded. he’d hidden the bruises on his face with makeup, the way one of his female tutors had shown him. he was dressed like a waitress from the establishment he was meant to infiltrate.

 

his body was still skinny and lean, and with his long hair, now in pigtails that his more needles, and his big eyes, he easily passed for a girl.

 

“i’ll wait for you on the ship today. and the next time, i won’t come at all.”

 

illumi nodded, and his pigtails bounced.

 

the job was simple. two mafia families. angry at each other. in the middle of peace talks in yorknew. a third one wanted both dead. illumi would serve them enough arsenic to take down an elephant. no one would pay attention to the new waitress. he’d slip out, disappear. all in all, the actual travel time would take longer than the job.

 

on the plane, illumi had crossed his legs daintily, like a girl, and looked out the window, leaning his head on the glass. he was even more like a doll, in the frilly puffy dress uniform of the establishment. it was a parody of class, meant to appease dirty old men. silva cared not for it, but it was working to the advantage of illumi’s cover. these men thought of the doll-like waitresses as pieces of meat. too easy to remain unnoticed then.

 

he took his laptop out, to go through some of his contracts in swardani, check the accounts – work to keep him occupied while illumi slipped out of the airship.

 

he liked yorknew. he didn’t normally like loud and bright places, but yorknew was nice – there was always lots of interesting things to look at, and interesting people. _weird_ people, so he didn’t stand out. jobs in yorknew were always easy and paid well.

 

he slipped into the bar lounge through the staff door, swiped a nametag and pinned it to the front of his dress, then grabbed one of the trays, and went into the main room. it smelled like alcohol and smoke. the vip zone was being manned by two shadow beasts at the entry, who paid him no made as he walked in, swaying on his high heels.

 

he pitched his voice high and sweet when he said “i’m here to ser _vice_ you, gentlemen?”

 

he gifted them a long slow blink. people liked to see that, apparently. that’s what that _woman_ told him. her hands had been too hot. he hadn’t liked her perfume.

 

the men around the table laughed. they wanted sake. they wanted him. he could read it in their eyes. he was blessed that he got to be an assassin and not a waitress in a place like this, though he liked wearing the dress.

 

he felt a hand. he did not like that. when the _man_ put his hand on his thigh, he hadn’t liked it. when the man pinned him down – he hadn’t liked that either. but it was part of his training, and he had to –

 

_this_ wasn’t part of his training. _this_ he didn’t have to tolerate, _or_ learn from.

 

it was on the third hour of waiting that it occurred to silva something was wrong. illumi should have finished by now. even if he’d gotten distracted by something on the way back – which he never did – he should have been back by now.

 

he closed his laptop. if illumi had managed to fail such a simple assignment – to slip poison to someone – he’d been doing it since he was _five._

 

the building was… quiet. unnaturally so. there was no music coming from it. silva wondered if it was possible the shadow beasts had sensed illumi’s game. he wondered if his meteor city heritage – through kikyou – would be enough to protect him. he stepped in through the wide open employee entrance. the kitchen had been abandoned in a hurry. the smell of blood was thick in the air.

 

in the main lounge… it was almost too thick to breathe through. the carpet squelched under his shoes, soaked through with blood. the walls were sprayed with it. he activated his en. he could sense only a single presence. one survivor. he wondered who’d done this. it was possible that the shadow beasts – or maybe a competing contract. someone who wanted to send a message –

 

he hears the sound before the image in front of his eyes connects to it. it’s pathetic. it sounds like breathing, but all wrong. no one should ever sound like this if they’re trying to breathe.

 

illumi, in his frilly dress, is sitting by the wall. his hair is dripping with blood. his hands are red to the elbows, as he hugs his knobby knees, face buried in them. silva watches the rise and fall of his slender shoulders.

 

for a terrible, terrible moment, the realization hangs there. illumi has turned a quiet, quick job into a _slaughterhouse._ illumi has taken out _two_ shadowbeasts. and now illumi is looking up at him, weeping softly, the tears sliding down his pale cheeks, as he keeps trying to breathe.   
  
silva knows he should be angry. about the failed job, the sloppy work… but he’s just… he’s _dismayed._

 

“illumi…” he begins quietly, stepping closer to his son, crouching to be at his eye level.

 

illumi _wails._ silva has never seen him cry like that – never seen _anyone_ cry like that, great heaving sobs, practically howling, his whole body shaking.

 

“are you h- “he begins, reaches to grasp illumi’s shoulder. _are you hurt?_ he’d meant to ask, but illumi screeches, loud and infernal, and scrambles away like an animal, drawing himself up, grasping his needles,

 

“don’t _touch_ me!” he howls. “don’t _touch me! don’t touch me! i don’t like it! i don’t wanna! i don’t! i don’t! don’t touch me!”_

the delicate barrel of his ribcage shudders with the force of his breath, the strength in his lungs, as he screams, as he readies himself to defend.

 

“illumi!” silva says. “calm yourself at once!”

 

he watches illumi, with shaking hands, try to insert the needle into his arm. clever, clever illumi. an autopilot order will be enough to contain this. he keeps stabbing himself in the arm and missing. silva stands up, takes a step forward. illumi is wild, feral, like kikyou had been when they first met.

he has to move quick, or risk illumi stabbing him, and hurting him, and hurting himself.

 

he puts his arms around him, grabs him and holds him down. illumi screeches and wails.

 

“get off, _get off, getoff i said i don’t LIKE it!”_

silva cups a palm around his bruised throat and presses down until illumi’s eyes go foggy and then close.

 

it’s easy to carry him back to the airship. he weighs nothing. it’s almost as if he doesn’t eat. he’d have to check with the butlers – illumi can’t afford to skip meals, it will affect the building of his tolerance.

 

kikyou is in the solarium, cooing at the baby, while milluki struggles over his schoolbooks. he’s still pudgy, though hopefully he’ll grow out of it.

 

“get a butler to mind the children.” he says.

 

he doesn’t turn around. he can hear her following behind him.

 

the two of them undress illumi together, and lay him in the bath, filling with warm water.

 

they don’t speak. illumi’s slender body is not marked anywhere, except the marks from his seduction training, still visible and mostly unhealed.

 

“i’ll speak to my father,” silva says, at last.

 

kikyou is sleaning the blood from under illumi’s fingernails.

 

“yes,” she says absent-mindedly. “he might need a little break. a few days off, at least – “

 

“kikyou,” he begins. then he stops. she won’t like this. it’s not her job to like it. he doesn’t like it either.

 

she stops her motions of gently soaping illumi’s arms, and compulsively running her fingers over the needle marks in his forearm, from his failed attempts at calming himself.

 

“illumi is not my heir anymore,” he says simply, quietly.

 

he can picture her eyes going wide behind the visor. “no!”

 

“you have to give me killua,” he says. “illumi can’t… you didn’t see what i saw. he can’t do it. he’s unfit.”

 

“b-but – “ her lower lip trembles.

 

“we’ll have another one you can coddle,” silva promises. “like you coddle milluki, right? you’ve always wanted a big family.”

 

“oh but illu will be _heartbroken,”_ she wails. she’s clutching the silver hairbrush, as she starts mechanically moving it through the length of illumi’s hair.

 

“he’ll deal,” silva says.

 

“but what did he _do?”_ she demands. silva watched the red water in the bath.

 

“it doesn’t matter what he did. only that … that i don’t know if he’ll do it again. that he _mustn’t_ do it again.”

 

“did he… is he…” she pauses, takes a deep breath. his poor wife, and her gutter upbringing – she always needs time before she says big words. “did you _break_ our son?”

 

“he didn’t live through anything you or i haven’t survived,” silva says quietly. “watch your tone.”

 

he picks illumi up. they wrap him in towels.

 

“bring his stupid blanket and toys back,” he adds. “he can… he can have whatever childish things he wants now.”

 

he looks at hisoka morrow sitting across from him.

 

“how about you let me worry about illu-chan from now on?” the clown asked brightly. “he’s my responsibility now. and i… well. i have no interest in damaging my dolls.”

 

“illumi isn’t – “

 

“oh, but he is, isn’t he?” hisoka stands up, smoothing his hands down his trousers. “this is what you’ve been oh-so-eloquently dancing around this whole afternoon. that illu-chan is just a pretty little murder doll, who doesn’t know anything about anything because you  - his dear daddy – trained him, and scrambled the brains his pretty little head so, so bad that sometimes he wakes up and still thinks he’s five and you abandoned him in a forest.”

 

hisoka rests his hands on the table. his bright red nails are glinting.

 

“i _know_ that,” he says quietly. “i _know_ exactly what illumi is, and isn’t. please don’t take this as anything more than an indulgence on my part – of my beloved’s wishes, that is. because he _loves_ this family, and he _loves_ his daddy, and he wants one big, _happy_ celebration, and that’s exactly what we’re all going to give him… make no mistake. i _know_ what you did to him. and what i don’t know, i’ve imagined. i may only be half-literate, but i am not stupid.”

 

it’s silva’s turn to stand up.

 

they’d kept illumi dosed up on tasty opioids mixed into his tea, the first days after that job.

 

illumi’s big eyes had been so very blank. he’d held the blanket bundled up to his chest, and moved around like a ghost. they waited for the marks to heal, and the effect of the pills to go away, before calling him into the study. him, and zeno and kikyou, with killua in her arms.

 

illumi was still holding the blanket, still lost, spaced out.

 

he said “i understand.”

 

his eyes glided over killua like he wasn’t even there.

 

the next time silva saw him, illumi had sheared his wealth of silky black hair off, and traded his delicate kimonos and pretty clothes for loose jeans and big hoodies.

 

he’d sat in killua’s room for hours on end, staring at him. that’s what the butlers said. just… looking.

 

hisoka shakes his head. “this conversation is over,” he says brightly. “thank you for your time, father.”

 

he makes his way through the house. such a big, big house. he can see why illumi likes it so much – it’s beautiful to be sure. he intuits his way around. he and zeno zoldyck exchange nods in the hallway. normally, hisoka would be _itching_ for a fight.

 

illumi is in his room, nearly done packing. he looks serene, like a port of calm in the storm of his family’s constant histrionics.

 

“hisoka!” he says warmly, when he turns around. he’s not smiling, but he is warm nonetheless. “mother said you were here. did you … that is, did you speak to my father?”

 

“oh, yes. a very … fruitful conversation. we we renegotiating your bride price. he’s a stubborn man, but i talked him down to forty goats, ten camels and half an elephant.”

 

illumi’s eyes crease, and it’s pretty to watch, as he struggles despite himself not to laugh and indulge hisoka.

 

“you don’t have forty goats, ten camels and half an elephant,” he points out blankly.

 

“mm… you better elope with me before he finds out then!”

 

hisoka wraps his arms around illumi’s waist and lifts him easily. illumi lets him, leaning into the hold, putting his arms around hisoks’s shoulders.

 

“i thought you weren’t supposed to see me before tomorrow… or something?” illumi says.

 

“mm…” hisoka shrugs. “rules are for… lesser people,” he says. his lips brush illumi’s cheek, the crown of his head. his love ducks his face, always so shy, even after such a long time. “do you need help packing, my love?”

 

illumi hums vaguely in assent. “you can go sort out my bathroom boxes – all the towels and tools and such…”

 

“as you wish, my sweet,” hisoka picks his way through the mess on the floor – illumi’s made good progress, and with hisoka’s help, might even be done before dinner.

 

he picks up his shoes for the shipping boxes. the ones for the honeymoon are already in their proper suitcase.

 

“you know,” he begins.   
  
he hears hisoka make a noise from the bathroom that indicates he is listening. “i wish killua were here. or that he’d at least send a card.”

 

he’d spent such a long time in killua’s room when he was younger. after that mission in yorknew, that colossal failure that had disappointed everyone, made his father and grandfather take his title away – it hadn’t even merited a physical punishment, that is how badly he’d failed. they hadn’t even beaten him. just told him he’d be passed over for heir in favor of killua, since milluki was too old now, to begin proper training like illumi had been trained. illumi now had a new, even more important task. to help raise killua to be heir. the _right_ way.

 

illumi had looked at the baby, with its fluffy white hair and big blue eyes, and its soft pudgy cheeks. he loved killua, because he was supposed to love him, as he did milluki, and mother and father. illumi always did what he was told.

 

he sat in the baby’s room, and look at it sleeping. sometimes babies forgot how to breathe, because they were so little and stupid. sometimes illumi forgot how to breathe too, and woke up in the middle of the night, choking. if killua was breathing, everything was okay.

 

he senses his mother come up behind him. she sits on the floor next to him, her skirts flaring out prettily. he wishes he was wearing a pretty dress, but… _something._ he’d been wearing a dress during the job that went wrong. jeans were comfy too.

 

“why are you here, honey?” she’d asked. she was looking at the baby, not him. she’d cried when she saw him with all his hair chopped off. she cried for a lot of silly reasons. illumi knew a zoldyck was not supposed to cry. he didn’t cry anymore. when he felt like crying now, he simply took a needle out and pressed it to the nape of his neck, and let everything be calm and tranquil, like looking up from the bottom of the swimming pool after doing a hundred laps with no breaks.

 

“i’m not… i’m not doing anything,” he’d said quietly. he didn’t want to get scolded. getting scolded was even worse than being sent to the isolation chamber.

 

“i know, honey,” kikyou says. “i asked why you’re here.”

 

“father says i have to help raise killua. keep him safe, because he’s the zoldyck heir. i’m … i’m keeping him safe. from the bad things.”

 

“bad things don’t happen in this house, silly,” his mother said. she was right. he knew that.

 

no one had taken toys away from milluki, or changed killua’s room while he was in heaven’s arena. there were no more _special tutors._

 

bad things didn’t happen to his siblings. probably, bad things hadn’t happened to him.

 

hisoka comes out of the bathroom. he smells like he just sprayed himself with one of illumi’s perfumes.

 

“killua-kun is on his own adventure now,” hisoka says warmly. “don’t worry about him when we’re about to go on our own.”

 

illumi nods. he continues picking things off the floor on auto pilot and sorting them through the boxes. hisoka stands there, looking at him. the easy grace in his movements, the sway of his hips, and his long beautiful hair. his sweetheart, his darling…

 

he can’t wait to take him out of this house. ten years too late to really save him, but what can you do? good thing that gon-kun had come and gotten killua out. good thing that killua had come back for his sister. that kalluto-chan had the good sense to leave when he still could. and none of them had come back for illumi. his sweetheart, who always came back here, who spent every second in hisoka’s arms half out of his mind with fear, because he never knew what punishment for what transgression would await him at home –

 

the apartment in yorknew didn’t have basement torture chambers, or the watching eyes of butlers who reported your every move. hisoka would never allow it.

 

“you haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

 

hisoka recognizes anxious when he hears it in illumi’s voice, that breathlessness that comes with trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

 

“of course not, pretty baby, why would i?”

 

illumi shakes his head. “it doesn’t matter. it’s stupid. i’m being dumb again.”

 

“you’re never dumb,” hisoka says. it’s true. illumi is so clever, and knows so much. even when he gets confused, hisoka would never call him dumb. he carefully steps over a suitcase.

 

“is it because i talked to your father, my love?”

 

illumi nods mutely.

 

hisoka wraps his arms around his slender body.   
  
“oh, my sweet baby. my sweet, sweet little baby. your daddy didn’t change my mind, i promise.” he kisses the nape of illumi’s neck, over his scars.

 

illumi relaxes against him. he lets hisoka hold him, leaning against his broad chest.

 

“hisoka?” he murmurs after a while. it’s nice to just be held.

 

“yes, my love?”

 

“do you think… do you think you could… maybe make some more soft toys for me?”

 

hisoka’s arms around him tighten.

 

“baby. i’ll make you a whole zoo, if you want.”

 

illumi closes his eyes. “forty goats,” he says. “ten camels. half an elephant… the trunk half…”

 

hisoka laughs. his laugh is what stopping the bad things from happening sounds like.

 

 

 

 


End file.
